


Down Under

by DrPectoral



Category: creative writing - Fandom
Genre: Horror, Lovecraftion, Other, POV Third Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:54:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26745469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrPectoral/pseuds/DrPectoral
Summary: This story follows a young noble named Turner as discovers more about how his world works to ease the guilt he feels about an incident that occurred in his life.
Kudos: 1





	Down Under

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first draft of a story that I intend to flesh out so any constructive comments would be helpful to aid in revision! Thank you.

Down Under

The sound of raucous laughter reverberated off the walls of a cramped store room as two figures, one round and the other lanky, hunched close together, heads touching as they stared at the pages of a small notebook. The round figure began to turn a page but accidentally ripped it in process. Both figures stared at the page silently before laughing again as the round one balled the page up in their hand, chucking it over their shoulder dismissively. It bounced off the chest of a third figure who unbeknownst to the other two had quietly entered the room, drawn by their laughter. The third figure cleared their throat and the first two froze in terror. Hastily picking up discarded whips laying near where they were sitting they rushed towards the store rooms exit. Heads held low they squeezed past the third figure, giving them no more acknowledgement than they would an inconveniently placed obstacle. Wincing slightly as the storeroom door slammed shut behind them, the third figure waited until the sound of the other two's footsteps ceased to echo throughout the tunnel walls. Bending downwards the third figure picked up the discarded page, carefully unfurling it before gently straightening it against their leg. Their task done, they picked up the notebook the other two had discarded and lovingly placed the page back in its place. Notebook still clutched in their hand they quickly slipped it into their shirt and exited the room.   
A song was being sung, somewhere far off in the distance, its melody whistling merrily through the air. It was a beautiful tune, one overflowing with feeling, raw, untapped, unblemished emotion that swelled endlessly until it reached its crescendo. A magnificent sound unlike any other known to man. It left the body breathless, teetering on the edge of release until finally it was reprised with the sublimest of sounds to ever grace mortal ears. Repeated, without fail, hundreds of thousands of times over in the sincerest of tones. Adulation rang from the mouths of the devout as the rabble gazed on in envy, or perhaps appreciation? Appreciation that they, swathed in their sin would never again imbibe in the sweet liquor that was the song.   
Turner burst breathlessly into his room. Eschewing every attempt of his mother's to coerce him to dinner he'd headed directly to his room, leaving him in his current state. Reaching into his shirt he pulled out the notebook he’d taken from the mines earlier. Running his hand over the grime caked front cover he held it up to his nose, inhaling sharply. His nostrils were assaulted with a peculiar earthy metallic scent, that lingered in his nose long after he had taken the notebook away from it. Turner had smelled a similar smell before, long ago when he was a child.  
He’d been playing with some friends when he’d tripped down a set of stairs and landed on his arm. Fueled by a combination of adrenaline and embarrassment he had bounced back up quickly, not noticing the long gash that had opened up on his arm. He hadn’t felt the injury until hours later, long after his friends had gone home to their parents, that’s when the pain began. It came all at once, roaring to life with such fervor that Turner collapsed to the ground with a plaintive cry that alerted his mother. Staring at his arm he saw slow rivers of red oozing from a wound he hadn’t even known he’d received. With his mother’s help his arm had been wrapped and he put to bed with strict instruction to not leave his room. He had sat for an hour in agony, tossing and turning as the pristine bandage on his arm quickly became sullied, turning a deep crimson until finally his mother returned.   
Turner vividly remembered that night as it had been the first time in his life that he had felt true pain; it also was the first time that he had experienced the wonders of the fleshless meal. Produced as a by-product from the constant mining that characterized the life of a noble, the fleshless meal wasn't exactly as it sounded. There was quite a lot of flesh involved actually, something it'd taken Turner years to internalize. The flesh was merely a vessel in which the fleshless meal was housed. He had been stunned when his mother had reentered his room not with a doctor, but with one of their many servants. She was a small girl. Only a year older than he was she possessed the same deep amber colored eyes that he had, but that's where their similarities ended.  
Whereas he was well fed, with a layer of pudge encompassing his entire frame, she was malnourished. Looking as if she were merely renting her skin rather than being the owner of it. Pale flaps of loose skin hung limply from her body as she stared at him with eyes devoid of light, yet what frightened Turner the most was what he saw in those eyes. They were dead, yet something still stirred within them, something unworldly that beckoned him to bathe in its depths. Without thinking he reached out his hand to touch her. The moment his hand made contact with her skin she stiffened, her eyes going wide as her skin took on a rosy hue and her body began to fill out. Health flooded back into her body, for a moment, then she rapidly returned to her former visage, only far worse than before. Her body struggled to hold itself upright under its own weight. What little strength she had possessed had fled now, leaving her a prisoner within her own skin. If her body collapsed so would she, neither able to support the other. Her eyes became pits with only the barest specks of color shining through the darkness of her sockets. Her cheeks were hollow and each breath could be heard as a weak whistle escaping through a deflated nose. Turner recoiled in horror, or at least that’s what he told himself at the time, but now he knew he had grasped her bony arm so hard he’d shattered her frail bones. He knew that as he watched the light fade from her eyes, heard her last breath, and felt her heart’s final beat that he’d enjoyed every second of it. He wasn’t a monster, or at least he didn’t think he was. He’d seen several other nobles do the exact same thing he had, drain the life out of their fellow man and theirs had been a crueler process. As far as Turner was concerned he’d sent his servant to a better place, yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that something fundamentally had changed about him that day. That he’d somehow abandoned his humanity, but such thoughts were beyond the small boy who was simply happy to have the pain stop.  
Returning to the present Turner shook his head to rid himself of the past. Walking past his bedroom window he fell into his bed, giving the notebook one last sniff, before opening its yellowed pages.

E16 Entry Number One  
Today’s been strange. I woke up to find myself mining this strange ore! Now I don’t know how one mines while they’re asleep but apparently I’ve mastered the skill! Can’t say I enjoy it though, it’s strenuous work, my back, feet, hands, really my entire body have been aching all day long. I know I’m not in the best of shape but darn. I really have to give it to the folks who mined by hand in the past, though I supposed there’s still a couple of people who do that now. Can’t imagine being forced to pick up a pickaxe and bang on rocks all day. Got to do what ya got to do to make ends meet however. Got to admit though, I sure don’t remember signing up to be a miner. Don’t think it’d even make it into my top one hundred jobs I’d want to do. I’ll need to find whoever runs this place and tell them that I quit. It’s nice to have a job and all but I’m sure there’s something better out there for me. I should have some money still saved up. The last time I checked my bank account I’m sure I did. Oh well! Besides the pain, I’m doing good! But I can’t help but to wonder, where am I?

Turner leaned back in his bed wondering what the words “bank account” and “pickaxe” meant as well as how the author wouldn’t have known where they were. As far he knew all non nobles were born underground. Upon reaching the age of ten they were put to work in the mines. For the author to suggest otherwise would mean that they had been born somewhere other than the mines. A luxury provided only to those of noble rank. Intrigued Turner turned the page of the journal expecting to see another entry from the author but he was surprised to find that the next entry wasn’t by the same person. Flipping through the rest of the notebook it wasn't until nearly the end of the notebook that he found the author again. Upon reading their entry though he wondered if another slave had taken their name. The cheery tone of the first entry had vanished completely, in fact the entry seemed more like the ramblings of a madman than anything coherent. Looking at the entry number Turner saw that several dozen entries had passed since the last entry he’d read.

E16 Entry Number 57  
The days have begun to blur together now, if my estimations are right I’ve spent nearly three months in this hellhole. I still don’t know how I got here. What happened to the world to put it in such a state? At first I thought I’d been kidnapped and sold into slavery somewhere which is partly right I suppose. I was taken and I am a slave, but I don’t know if anyone sold me. I’ve seen people with skin matching all colors of the rainbow, mine included, don’t remember what a rainbow looks like. Haha. Did they even exist? Rainbows, the sky, the sun, anything other than the ore. It enslaves and guides us all the same. I think I’m going insane. The ore it- it calls to me. In my dreams it whispers sweetly to me. It tells me that everything will be fine, if I mine. I mine, it’s all I ever do really. To not mine is to spend seconds, minutes, hours thinking about the life I had before. Or at least I think it was my life. The feeling of the sun’s warmth on my skin or sting of a frigid winter’s first snow. They’re things I remember all too well. I remember them so well it hurts to remember. They’re things I’ll never know again I’m sure. It’d be easier if I could forget, easier if I couldn’t dream. I envy them, the husks, those poor soulless bastards who’ve given their all to the ore. They can’t hear anything but the ore. They’ve lost so much but in their loss they’ve gained a sort of freedom I can only dream of. I yearn for the day when I too can look blankly upon my captors as they diligently administer the love of the lash. To know such freedom is a luxury that I’d be willing to kill for, but I haven’t the strength. They say they weren’t always like that, the husks, they used to be just like me they say. Searching for a deeper meaning. A meaning to our life down here in the mines, a meaning to continue onwards. They say they’ve found it, their meaning. No meaning, just the ore. The ore provides and the ore is love. Without it we can know no peace. They say… Who is they? I can’t remember anymore. Their faces have all faded from my mind, but their words remain. Words are easy to remember, they can’t judge, they can’t hurt me, they can’t leave me. Oh friend why did you leave me? Were we ever truly friends? I can’t remember anymore. I just can’t. They say to give in to the ore is to be weak, but I’ve begun to wonder. Is it truly so bad to be weak?

Turner frowned as more unfamiliar words appeared in the slave’s, E16’s, writing. Sun? Sky? Rainbows? All were foreign words to him. He wondered, not for the first time, what type of world E16 was talking about. He’d heard other slaves mention things about their life and the world that they missed, things that Turner had never heard of before.   
For as long as he’d been alive there had only been the underground leading to the mines and the surface. Slaves were born and raised underground with the potential to move to the surface if a noble took a liking to them. A slave’s life on the surface was much better than one lived underground. They were fed good food, could bathe on a regular basis, and the work they did wasn't nearly as hard as mining was, yet slaves were happier as miners than servants. It baffled him. Surely a life of relative comfort was more than worth the price of eventual death? Now even more confused than he had been after the first entry Turner searched the remainder of the book for any more of E16’s entries, but was left wanting. There was so much he still didn’t know.   
He’d hoped that by reading the logs of the slaves he might finally be able to free himself of the guilt he’d felt the day he took his servant’s life. His mother had assured him that such events were common, that he was to be praised for partaking in his first feast at such a young age. He couldn't deny the way the feast had made him feel either. The euphoric high that he'd experienced as his servant's life flooded into him was a feeling he would never forget. The experience had left him breathless and on edge. As his mind recoiled from the atrocity his body reveled in it, craved it, and eventually bent his mind towards enjoying it too. An attitude that had only grown as he partook in more feasts though even as he savored each feast some small part of his mind rebelled and cried out. He couldn't ignore it and so in an attempt to assuage his mind he'd developed an interest in the lives of the slaves. If he understood them, then maybe, just maybe he could rationalize the feast and partake with no regrets. Flipping back to the beginning of the notebook Turner read the other slave entries but none of them displayed the same whimsy that E16's had and none of them mentioned the world before. Their entries by comparison were stunted and droll. He wasn't satisfied. Knowing what he had to do he waited until his mother had fallen asleep and snuck back to the mines. If the notebook hadn’t given him what he'd wanted then perhaps going straight to the source would.  
The sounds of the mine were comforting, the constant clack of metal against the ore, the steady drip of the ores bounty, and the ever present crack of the whip. Reverberating ceaselessly off the tunnel walls, so that even in its farthest depths the sounds of production could still be heard. Their inescapability made them a constant companion, a companion as welcoming as it was constraining. There was world before, a world where the sounds of the mine were the subject of fantasy, machinations of a demented mind that sought to shackle the souls of the free. It was a world that had ceased to exist for many of the mine's occupants, save for a few who clung to it with a passion that refused to be extinguished. Insignificant miniscule flames in the dark that realized, even in unity there would be no conflagration.  
Turner made good time to the mines; retracing his steps from earlier, he entered the mines just as darkness fell over the surface. Grasping blindly in the dark Turner breathed a sigh of relief as he felt the rough uneven texture of the tunnel walls against his hand. Feeling his way forward he knew he was going in the right direction as the ground gradually began to slope downwards leading him further into the mines. Cursing himself for not bringing some form of light he stopped as the wall abruptly ended. Casting his arm out wildly he winced as it slammed into what he presumed was the tunnel wall, only cut at a ninety degree angle. Rubbing his arm he turned right and continued on his way.  
Eventually the slope plateaued off and in the distance he could see the faintest glow of light. Growing brighter the closer he got to the light he eventually reached a point where the entirety of the tunnel was illuminated. The wall ended as the tunnel opened up into a large cavern that was bathed in a ghostly blue light emanating from a large tubular structure located at its center. The Ore. Turner had never seen the source of the ore before but he had witnessed cartfulls of the translucent blue stone being brought up from the mines. He didn’t know much about the ore other than it was used to build things up on the surface, but if E16 was to be believed there was something special about the mineral. Something that eased the slave’s pain. Walking into the cavern he saw that he was standing on a ledge overlooking the ore. From it he could see multiple slaves ambling to and fro as they used large jagged blades called extractors to hack large chunks of ore from the vein. These chunks were then carried by hand towards large carts where it was neatly stacked in piles. Looking away from the slaves, Turner’s attention was drawn to a large pool of neon blue liquid that several slaves were gathered around. He watched as a group of twenty or so slaves cupped their hands and plunged them into the liquid. Then in unison they brought their hands to their mouths and drank the liquid before repeating the process. Turner was mesmerized watching the strange ritual, he hadn’t known that the ore could be consumed. At least he assumed it was the ore as he’d never seen it in a liquid state either. Tearing his eyes away from the slaves he stared at the sinuous vein of ore in awe, admiring how tendrils of it split off from the main stalk and attached themselves to different parts of the cavern. His eyes grew wide as he watched one such tendril spread rapidly from it’s point of contact, covering several slaves before it stopped. The slaves emerged unscathed, simply getting up from where they had been swept off their feet to continue mining. Some of the slaves didn’t get back up, instead choosing to wildly roll around in the ore, mouths opened wide as the ore began to consume them. In a matter of minutes what was once human became ore, yet the other slaves mined on, blissfully unaware of their companion’s plight. It was fascinating to Turner who had he not been on a mission could have watched the scene endlessly.  
Refocusing on his task he made his way towards a set of stairs carved into the ledge that led down to the ore. As he descended them he noticed how many of the slaves were smiling, yet some weren’t and these slaves scared him. They weren’t like the others. While the smiling slaves ignored him entirely these ones stared at him as he passed by. Their eyes weren’t lifeless like theirs, like his servant’s, they were bright and something burned within them. As he neared the bottom he encountered another group of fiery eyed slaves. As he drew near them one of them hefted their extractor into the air and pointed it at him. Turner froze as the slave took a step towards him, then another. Terrified, he backed away from the slave, who’s gaze hadn’t left him since they’d spotted him. Turner stared at the slave and the slave him, before the slave sprinted at him, brandishing the extractor threateningly until a thunderclap split the air. Blinking in confusion Turner watched the slave’s head rocket back as something slammed into it. Dropping the extractor the slave clutched their face wailing as they fell to their knees. Dumbfounded he stared at the slave in confusion until he felt himself being lifted into the air. The slave retreated from his view as he realized he’d been picked up by one of the mine operators who’d whisked him back to the tunnel entrance. Before he could process what had happened the mine operator slapped a flashlight into Turner's hand before pushing him into the tunnel.  
“You shouldn’t be here.” The operator gasped looking at where they’d come from nervously.  
“But I-”, Turner began  
“Leave! Now!” the operator shouted, emphasizing each word angrily as they turned their back to him, hand tightening around the handle of their whip. Opening his mouth in protest Turner closed it quickly as he saw multiple forms advancing up the stairs. Turning away from the operator Turner ran, not stopping until he’d traced his steps all the way back to the mine’s entrance. Stooping over he struggled to catch his breath as he stared into the depths of the mines. Recovering enough to stand up he began his trek back home.  
Finally making it home for the second time that day Turner once again went to his room. Collapsing into his bed his lungs screamed for air as the rest as his body trembled with exhaustion. He’d taken an extra long route just to be sure he wasn’t being followed. Pulling the notebook out of his shirt he held it to his chest tightly. He hadn’t done anything to provoke the slave but they’d attacked him anyway. Something wasn’t right, under normal circumstances a slave would have been overjoyed to see him. His status as a noble would end their suffering. As exhaustion took hold of him he began to drift off, but before he did he vowed to return to the mines. It held the answers he needed and he was going to get them, or die trying.


End file.
